No, that wasn't two Speak & Spells droning about Superman with no knowledge of the rhythms of conversation, that was dialogue Kevin Smith wrote on purpose.

The One Specific Thing:

On the other hand, Smith is really, really good at monologues. Not (and this is an important distinction) dialogue; if you get two people talking in a Kevin Smith movie, it sounds like they're reading off the back of cereal boxes until the next dick joke comes around. But he really has a talent for pausing a movie and letting a character sink into a long, uninterrupted story, like Tracy Morgan's elaborate hypotheticals in Cop Out or a gripping emotional moment from Genesis Rodriguez in the absolutely execrable Tusk, a movie inspired by a dumb joke he made on a podcast. And of course, the speech he delivers as Silent Bob in Chasing Amy (an admittedly decent movie).

In Mallrats, the unexpected airplane story seems like it's building to something remarkable. It feels like it should be the climax of the movie, but it's not; it's not even the climax of that scene. It's just a long speech about a dude jerking it on a plane. And yet it's riveting, not just to the audience in the film, but to us, the watchers of the watchers themselves.

Smith, for all of his faults, has a genuine and deep talent for writing speeches that pull you out of the movie and into another emotional place entirely. Like somehow, it just has the weird, wondrous Kevin Smith power to suck you in that his actual narratives and command of the screen utterly do not. It actually makes a lot of sense that Kevin Smith has pivoted into a second career lately as a podcast host and all-around pop culture raconteur; he's just not as good as making films as he is at speeches.

The One Specific Thing:

For a guy who specializes in worldwide disaster movies that tend to involve landmarks being destroyed and incongruously happy endings, Emmerich is really, really good at injecting creepy horror scenes right in the middle. For example, this scene from the very same Independence Day. Up until this point, ID4 had largely been a movie of big explosions and Will Smith quips, and then suddenly this? Straight up body horror, with carapaces exploding and Brent Spiner being turned into a hoarsely whispering puppet man.

And then there's how Dolph Lundgren dives into bleak gore whenever JCVD isn't around in Universal Soldier, stalking through a refrigerated 18-wheeler, gouging out eyes and wearing a necklace of human ears.

Tristar Pictures
"Need an ear?"

And here, how Godzilla becomes a slow measured crawl, in an otherwise loud, boring-ass movie. Then it suddenly explodes in a classic jump scare; and it's probably one of the most effective scenes in an oeuvre stuffed as it is with numerical pap like 2012 and 10,000 BC. He seems to have missed his calling as the next John Carpenter. Instead, he became the actual Roland Emmerich.

He directs middling, forgettable films for stars that do okay at the box office, but bomb with critics and are swiftly forgotten. Ratner isn't remarkably bad. He's bad in the way a retired old man takes up woodworking in his garage to kill the boredom, but he only has enough skill to make birdhouses. He just takes scripts for projects like Tower Heist, The Family Man, and way too many Rush Hours, and turns them into a cinematic blah.

The One Specific Thing:

Ratner is great at throwing characters together and having them bicker back and forth while something much more dangerous is happening all around them. That's not a fluke, it's a skill; he can basically distract from ostensibly the most exciting thing on screen and turn it into an entirely different, funnier kind of scene. For a guy who comes off in interviews like the physical embodiment of too much Drakkar Noir, Ratner really gets goofily contentious relationships. Like the way this fight in Rush Hour plays out:

Notice at 2:30, when the tension entirely stops, just so Chan and Tucker can pull goofy faces at each other. And it works. It's the same reason he can somehow make these two adult men arguing about their fathers seem somehow heartwarming:

And this moment from Tower Heist, as a group of men trying to pull a criminal scheme get bogged down in a petty arguments and made me realize I'd always wanted to see someone call Matthew Broderick a bitch.

And this one from Horrible Bosses, where three guys in a hotel room can't stop arguing, and somehow make you forget that this is a movie that considers the height of humor to be Colin Farrell in a bald wig.

New Line Cinema
Mild chuckle, at best.

His version of Hercules, starring Dwayne Johnson, is utterly forgettable, and yet has this scene in which Ian McShane gets angry because the Rock just saved his life. For all his faults, Ratner is amazing at making arguing friends seem magical on screen, instead of like the worst part of your Friday night out.

By some kind of filmmaking alchemy, he managed to turn Will Smith into a raging dick in Bad Boys, which belies what an entire generation was taught via the lessons of Bel-Air. He makes no bones about the fact that both of these guys are unpleasant to listen to and be around, and yet a movie focused around them undeniably works.

Colombia Pictures
Martin Lawrence, on the other hand ...

Or in Armageddon, when he has a whole team of dumb jerks act like jerks the whole time. Why would anyone want to watch that? It's easy to be harassed by a group of roughnecks; literally walk anywhere in any city in America, and it's bound to happen within a few blocks. If it doesn't, try wearing a fancy hat or something. They hate that.

And yet, they're fun. Just to be clear, Michael Bay isn't humanizing these a-holes in a Scorsese-ian kind of way, or plumbing their depths. He just somehow makes watching them enjoyable, which is its own weird, rare kind of brilliance.